


Cut the Wires Sequence Five: Take Me Out of the Wild

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Soldiers of Fire and Shadows [21]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Steve Rogers, Child Abuse, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt Matt Murdock, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly hurt, Protective Matt Murdock, Rescue, and a hospital, matt no, the author is very sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 05:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: Steve smiled at Forsythe. "I'm Steve. I'm here with Iron Man and we're getting you and Matthew out of here."Forsythe stared at him and his eyes reminded Steve of Bucky's, when he'd pulled him off the table in Zola's Isolation Ward: like he wanted to believe he was safe, but didn't trust it yet.





	Cut the Wires Sequence Five: Take Me Out of the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> As with the other stories in this sequences, the title comes from [Wires by Basia Bulat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQ4pfoZjyzo&feature=youtu.be). Please do give it a listen. ♥
> 
> This is not the end of the series yet, but it may be the last fic in the Cut the Wires Sequence. We shall see. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Big, big thanks to my awesome sister [Squeaky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky) for the stuff with Jughead, which was basically her response to my desperate plea for suggestions on what to do next. And then I didn't use it for two more stories because that's how I roll. But her idea was way cool, so I'm really glad I could finally write it.
> 
> Equally big thanks to my most excellent friend [Shazrolane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/pseuds/Shazrolane), who read this over when I was dithering and gave me some much-needed reassurance. 
> 
> You are both lovey. Thank you.

Jughead woke up gasping and disoriented. He'd been in the corridor, trying to breathe with Grant's arm around his throat. He'd been in the corridor and now he was here, and Grant was fastening a manacle around his left wrist. Jughead's legs were already strapped down by what looked like a regular leather belt, tight around his ankles. Only his right hand was still free.

He couldn't move, and he didn't know where he was, except it was like a chair—

Grant had talked about a Chair: he'd talked about someone named Illya who was put in it for the first time when he was 13. He'd told his men to take Matthew there. Matthew always came back quiet from the procedure, but the Chair…

Oh, God. This was the screaming place. This was how Grant tore people apart.

"No! No! No!" Jughead yanked his right arm out of the manacle before Grant could fasten it, then curled his hand into a fist and drove it as hard as he could into Grant's face.

His dad had never wanted Jughead to get into fights, but he'd still taught him how to throw a punch. Grant reeled back, smacking his hand over his nose. Jughead fumbled with the manacle around his wrist, but his fingers were clumsy with terror and he couldn't find the latch. He was still searching for it when Grant snatched his arm away.

"No! NO! _Let me go!_ " Jughead fought for his life, with only his right arm still capable of moving. He tried to wrench his arm free from Grant's grip, yanking so hard he felt something in his elbow give. It barely hurt. He thrashed and bucked in the restraints, blood roaring with adrenaline. The manacle was slightly loose on his wrist. He made his hand as thin as he could and pulled with all his strength. It hurt like he was slicing his thumb off. Jughead didn't care.

"God damn it! Help me with him!" Grant snapped at someone Jughead hadn't seen.

One of his men rushed over and wrapped his arms around Jughead's chest from behind, holding him in the chair. Grant slammed Jughead's arm down on the armrest and fastened the wrist manacle. There was another one higher up his forearm, but it was too large to keep his arm still.

" _Let me go!_ " Jughead screamed, heaving against the man's hold. Tears ran down his face, mingling with sweat and dirt. "Let me go! Help! Help me! Dad!" he screamed for him automatically, the one person who always picked him up when he fell and looked after him when he got hurt and protected him from the monsters. But his father wasn't there, would never be anywhere again.

He had no one. No one to pull him out of this cold, sickly hell…. No, that wasn't true. He had someone: Matthew, who'd kept him warm and attacked Grant for him, who'd trusted Jughead with his name. "Matthew! Matthew! Help me, please!" Matthew might be dead too. He must have known when he jumped Grant that only Jughead had a chance to escape. If he was alive he'd be in no shape to fight. But Jughead kept screaming for him anyway; Begging for protection from the monsters.

"We need another belt," the man holding him gritted over Jughead's cries. "He's like the other one. There's no way he's keeping still for this."

"Then we'll do what we did with the other one." Grant swung his elbow into Jughead's temple—

—And then he was awake and the man wasn't there but there was a leather belt wrapped around his chest right under his arms. He couldn't move any more.

"Matthew! Help me!" Jughead sobbed. There was a mechanical hum and the half circle above his head began to rotate. "Please help me!"

"Shut up!" Grant shouted at him. The machine stopped and he marched over, then slapped Jughead across the face. He pressed his palm tight over Jughead's mouth. "What?" he snapped at the other man, who Jughead hadn't even noticed was in the room. 

The man was holding a radio and looked worried. "The Avengers are here, Sir. Captain America and Iron Man."

"Fuck!" Grant bit out. "Why are you still here? Stop him!"

The other man looked terrified, but he choked out, a 'yes, Sir!' and ran off. Grant let Jughead go to bolt the door.

Jughead immediately started screaming again, heart galloping in hope. " Help me! Help me! I'm here! I'm right here! Please, somebody help me! Please!"

"I said shut up!" Grant punched Jughead in the stomach, and Jughead had no air left to scream.

Grant ran his fingers through his hair, watching Jughead choking and spitting. There was nothing to puke up but clear foam.

"Fuck," Grant said again. "God damn it! Why does he have to ruin _everything?_ Why does he always have to ruin everything?" He glared at Jughead, jaw working furiously with his rage. "Fuck it," he snarled finally. "You're mine. I'm not giving you back."

He stalked back to the control panel for the machine, twisted one of the dials. "I think they used this setting on James, once." He sounded almost happy again. "It took a week before he remembered how to walk. I think it took about a month before he could speak again, but I'm not sure." He grinned, dark and horribly cold. "Lets see what it does to you."

He turned the machine on again.

* * *

There was only one guard outside the sugar house: a bored looking thug in secondhand Hydra Kevlar, sitting on the hood of one of the Humvees. The ground at his feet was speckled with cigarette butts. Steve tossed his shield into the guy's head while he was lighting up.

He didn't bother zip-tying the guy's wrists and ankles. Tony had already disabled the Humvees and Ward's cloaked quinjet with a quick EM pulse. And they'd called S.H.I.E.L.D. before they'd landed their own jet at the far end of the property. It wasn't like any Hydra escapees would get far.

Having Tony blast the wide, barn style doors in, then launching a two-man frontal assault with Tony at his six was deeply, darkly satisfying in a way Steve hadn't experienced since the war. He'd been happy with the Avengers—at least as happy as he'd ever got, thinking Bucky was dead—they'd done good work, important work. Saved the world.

But _this,_ this was personal. This wasn't just about rescuing Daredevil and Forsythe; this was payback for everything Hydra had done to Bucky, and to everyone else they'd tortured, subjugated and killed in the name of their twisted idea of freedom. This was about making Grant Ward and anyone dumb or cruel enough to follow him hurt.

The sugar house was a large, one-story building that was a mixture of syrup refinery in the front, with offices and storage behind. There were plenty of sap boilers and stacks of barrels to hide behind, which made for a potentially deadly obstacle course to reach the rest of the building. Part of the reason for blasting their way in was to lure the Hydra agents away from cover. 

They'd anticipated around eighteen men would be in this impromptu base, possibly more. Four per Humvee and as many as ten in the quinjet. Steve immediately counted four, playing cars around a plastic folding table, who were startled as hell when he and Tony busted in. Steve took down two before they could even stand, scythed like wheat in a line.

Throwing his shield hurt like hell. Twisting his body wrenched at his ribs in a way that forced him to cage a grunt of pain behind his teeth. Nor was the quick movement of battle doing his head or back any favors. He would definitely need the Tower's Medical Suit, after this. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

Tony got the other two with his repulsors, then scanned for more of them. He and Steve hadn't actually discussed the level of force they were going to use when they stormed the base, but it wasn't like either of their weapons of choice had a stun setting.

Steve couldn't find it in himself to care about that either.

"Over there!" Tony shouted, just as two more rounded the closest boiler, firing their Carbines. Tony's suit was impervious to anything short of a rocket-propelled grenade, and Steve got his shield up before anything hit. He was getting tired of that pinging noise.

"Cover me!" he shouted to Tony, then threw his shield and starting running. That time he didn't bother holding in the cry of pain. It was drowned out by the guns.

His shield ricocheted off a different boiler and into the head of the closest of the men. Steve grabbed the shield midstride, then threw himself into a somersaulting kick like the one he'd used to take down Batroc. He'd been pissed enough then to want to show off. Now it was just expedient.

It was also a bad idea, but Steve was running on reflex and muscle memory, and he'd been fighting through pain for more than a decade before the war even started. That agent went down, likely dead, but Steve felt something shift grotesquely in his own chest with the impact. He landed badly and nearly lost his footing, graceless with the sudden new stab of pain.

"Cap! You okay?" Tony said over their radio. Another man was grazed by Tony's repulsor fire that holed the empty boiler behind him.

"I'm fine," Steve lied. He would be, after Matthew and Forsythe were rescued. He could hold out until then. He closed up with another man desperately fumbling to reload and kneed him in the stomach. When the agent doubled over Steve slammed his shield down on the back of his neck.

He stumbled a little, wobbly with pain before he regained his footing. He brought up his shield automatically to deflect the bullets from a seventh—eighth?—man, while Tony shot one more.

"The hell you are!" Tony snapped. "You need—"

At the distant end of the building, someone started screaming: _Please, somebody help me! Please!_ And then it suddenly stopped.

Steve's wellbeing was instantly irrelevant. "I got this! Go!" Tony said.

Steve was closer, and Tony couldn't fly well in confined spaces. Steve smashed one more Hydra agent out of the way with his shield and ran.

He crashed through the partially-open door without slowing, then thundered down the corridor. He saw another man running out of a room at the far end of the building and took him down with his shield before he could even react, angling his throw so that his shield rebounded off both sides of the corridor before snapping back to his hand. It hurt terribly every time he moved now, and he had a bad feeling about his lung, since it was getting harder to breathe. But he'd fought through asthma attacks too, and he had bigger things to worry about. Like the angry voice behind the closed door, and the mechanical humming.

Steve launched himself right though the door, using his shield as a battering ram with the force of his body behind it. He landed in a roll, rocketed up to his feet and threw his shield into the mechanism just as the masklike pieces were closing around Forsythe's head.

Grant Ward shot Steve twice in the side the instant the shield left his hand.

Steve lurched and nearly fell, blindsided by the shock of it even before he registered the pain. He was dimly aware of Forsythe crying out in horror on his behalf. 

Steve's shield had snapped the Chair's branchlike pieces right off, but then had hit the far wall and dropped to the floor. Steve was weaponless when he spun to charge Ward, and was shot again, this time in the stomach. Ward's handgun wasn't as powerful as the Winter Soldier's had been, but that didn't mean much at this range. Steve stumbled back and sat heavily on the floor, clasping his hands over the wound. He tried to gather his legs but they wouldn't work for him.

"Hey, Captain," Ward said. His grin was wide and red beneath the ruin of his nose and all the bruising on his face. His prisoners had put up a fight. Hopefully that meant Matthew was still alive. He strolled the small distance between them and put his gun to Steve's ear. "You know, I really admired you when I was a kid. I always hoped I'd get to meet you, and here you are. Life's funny like that, huh?" His grin turned to a blood-soaked clench of his teeth.

Steve grabbed his wrist and shoved just as Ward fired. The bullet missed Steve's ear, grazing the top of his helmet instead. Every one of Steve's muscles were screaming in a discordant cacophony, but he was still able to keep hold of Ward's wrist. Ward punched him in the face but Steve ignored it, using his free hand to wrench the gun away. Ward hissed in pain when Steve yanked the gun out of his hand and tossed it to the other side of the room. That was nice.

The next time Ward swung at him, Steve grabbed his other wrist, then bent his legs and kicked Ward in the stomach with both his feet, letting go of him at the same time. Ward hit the door on the far side of the room. It rattled loudly but held. Ward dropped to the floor.

Steve rolled heavily to his hands and knees, holding his stomach. The kick had been another bad idea; he felt like his guts had come loose and would spill out any second. He coughed, tasted blood, and for a brief, disconnected moment of terror thought he'd caught T.B. from his mother. Then the world clicked back into place, and he remembered he couldn't get sick anymore and Sarah Rogers was nearly 80 years dead. And he'd done something earlier in the fight that had probably stabbed a rib into his lung.

He stumbled to Forsythe, listing like a galleon. His right side was getting soaked with blood, itchy and warm as it inched down his hip and leg. Steve's stomach was incandescent agony, but he'd survived it before on the helicarrier. He'd survive it again. And the boy needed his help.

Forsythe was crying. Dripping red circles stained his wrists and the metal cuffs holding him. He was shivering violently, likely a combination of cold and shock. No telltale bruises from the Chair on his face yet, but there were plenty of other ones, mostly around his cheeks and jaw. He'd been beaten.

The rage was almost as good as adrenaline at easing Steve's pain.

"Tony, I got him," Steve said, then tried not to show his concern when there was no answer. He smiled at Forsythe instead. "I'm Steve. I'm here with Iron Man and we're getting you and Matthew out of here."

Forsythe stared at him and his eyes reminded Steve of Bucky's, when he'd pulled him off the table in Zola's Isolation Ward: like he wanted to believe he was safe, but didn't trust it yet.

"Are you okay?" Forsythe asked him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Steve said, touched. He pulled up his best Highschool Instructional Video smile and broke the manacles trapping Forsythe's wrists and the one around his forearm. Then he snapped the belts around his chest and ankles.

Bending and straightening was a bitch, and then Forsythe sobbed in relief and threw himself into Steve's arms, which hurt so badly Steve nearly bit his tongue off so he wouldn't cry out in pain. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," Forsythe gasped out, still shaking. He clutched Steve like he was terrified Steve would let go of him.

"It's okay," Steve said. "It's okay. You're safe now. We got you out. Tony? I could really use a hand here. What's your status?"

Still no answer. Fuck.

He saw Ward moving out of the corner of his eye, and instantly put Forsythe down and stepped in front of him. Ward was on his feet, coming unsteadily but purposefully towards them. His expression was so contorted with rage it was like Hell itself was shining through his eyes.

He unsheathed a knife. It reminded Steve of his street battle with the Winter Soldier: how he kept producing weapons like a magician pulling scarves. It hadn't been funny then, it sure as fuck wasn't funny now, not with Steve barely upright. Ward didn't have much fight left in him, but right now, compared to Steve he had more than enough to be a threat.

"Give it up. You'll never make it out of here. You know that," Steve said. He wanted to tell Forsythe to run, but he wasn't sure who was out there, and the boy was all but swaying on his feet.

"I don't care," Ward snarled. "You ruined everything! _Everything!_ You destroyed my family! _I hate you!_ " It sounded like the mindless insult of a raging child, but it was a well-trained, adult killer who rushed at Steve.

Steve was trapped by Forsythe, and Ward knew it. If Steve moved to the side, the boy was open to attack. If Steve backed up, he'd probably trip over him. The only thing he could do was go forward, meet Ward head on, and hope his guts stayed put long enough to get him and Forsythe out of this.

The door Steve had kicked Ward into burst open and another man surged into the room. He had no shirt and his feet were bare, and every part of him Steve could see was so bruised and battered Steve didn't know how he could still be standing. The most prominent bruises were on his face, right where Steve remembered seeing them on Bucky. Only these were far darker, and the blood from his left ear was a wide, caked streak to his jaw. There was a thick gauze bandage strapped low to his side, wet and red with blood.

Matthew—this had to be Matthew; Illya had said this was what Hydra would do to him—made no sound other than his footfalls and the grunt of effort when he grabbed Ward's knife arm, twisted him around with it, then hit him in the face with what was obviously all that remained of his strength. When Ward fell, Matthew fell with him, toppling like a tree. But he angled himself to land on Ward, keeping his hand around Ward's wrist and using his body to hold him down.

Ward's head bounced off the floor, and Matthew scrambled to his knees while Ward was stunned, straddling his thighs and holding down both his arms. He shoved Ward's free arm under his leg, then punched him in the face. Again, and again, and again, until the knife finally dropped from Ward's unresisting hand.

Matthew kept hitting him. He still made no sound, beyond a low growl of rage. Matthew's eyes were dead, glassy and soulless as marbles in his bruised and ashen face.

"Matthew, no." Steve started forward, only to stop with a gasp at the tearing ache. He caught himself before his legs gave out, trying not to throw up from the pain.

"Matthew!" Forsythe darted from behind Steve to all but collapse to his knees at Matthew's side. "Matthew, stop! Please. Don't kill him."

He touched Matthew's shoulder, and Matthew instantly twisted and caught the boy's wrist, moving his free hand to Ward's throat.

"No!" Steve forced himself to move. He was sure Matthew was about to attack Forsythe the way he had Ward, and Steve needed to get in between them without hurting either one—

But Matthew didn't hurt Forsythe. He stayed still, holding Forsythe's wrist, his chest heaving with exertion and pain. "I know you," he said. His voice sounded exactly like he'd been screaming for a very long time. "You…you're…." He frowned, then closed his eyes and took a breath through his nose. "Rain. You're Rain."

Steve blinked, but Forsythe nodded eagerly. "Yeah! That's right. I'm Rain. And you're Matthew. Matthew Michael Murdock. That's your name. And, you don't kill people, okay? You don't do that. Please don't do that. Just…let's go. Please? Let's go home."

"I don't…my home…." Matthew grimaced, afraid, but he finally let go of Ward and slid off him. Ward didn't move. Steve wasn't sure the man was still alive.

"Thank you," Forsythe said. He hugged Matthew fiercely. "You got shot. I was so worried you weren't coming back."

"I heard you," Matthew said. He hugged Forsythe back tentatively, as if he didn't know what he was doing. "I heard you. But…I couldn’t…The embers—"

"It's okay," Forsythe said quickly. "I'm okay, see? Steve got me out of that thing and you saved us from Grant. But, we need to go. I'm cold, and I don't feel well. And you and Steve are really hurt."

The name 'Steve' seemed to finally register, because Matthew took a sharp breath then his head snapped to the side. He was looking in Steve's direction but not at him, and that deadness in his eyes hadn't changed. Steve had the sudden, awful thought that Forsythe's 'see?' was rhetorical.

Steve hadn't read anything about the Chair making Bucky go blind, but Matthew wasn't Bucky.

"Wood," Matthew said. "You're wood. Wood?" He sounded like he wasn't sure.

"I'm Steve," Steve said. "You've fought with me before. On the Avengers. My codename is Captain America."

He could tell Matthew didn't understand.

"Can you get up if I help?" Forsythe asked him. He didn't look like he'd be able to get up himself, but when Matthew nodded Forsythe stood with him. They moved slowly, leaning heavily on each other. Matthew was gasping with obvious pain, shaking so badly Steve wasn't sure Forsythe could keep hold of him. Forsythe wasn't shaking quite as badly, but now Steve could see he was favoring his right arm, on top of all his other injuries.

He was shuffling over to help, blood leaking through his fingers, when Tony ran in. He wasn't in the suit, just the jeans, tee-shirt and sneakers he'd been wearing when they'd found out Bucky was alive. Tony also had a livid bruise staining half his face, and was favoring his right side.

"Whoa," he said, skidding to a halt. Then, "Whoa!" because Matthew had let Forsythe go to come at Tony, clearly registering him as a threat. Only he barely got two steps before his eyes rolled back and his knees buckled.

Forsythe yelped in fear and reached for him, but Tony got there first. He caught Matthew and lowered him carefully to the floor.

"Ow. Ow. Ow. Fuck," Tony panted. "Jesus Christ, Steve. Is this Daredevil? This is Daredevil, right? Did you get _shot?_ Holy fuck. Are you okay?"

The answer to that was too obvious to bother saying. "Where were you? Where's your suit?"

"Remember how [Hammer Industries made bullets out of Chitauri metal](http://marvelcinematicuniverse.wikia.com/wiki/Judas_Bullet) that could penetrate almost anything expect Vibranium? And that were also explosive? And then lost all the prototypes? Yeah, well, me neither." Tony finished getting all the way to his knees, still wheezing and swearing quietly to himself. "Luckily the suit opens really, really fast. Opened really, really fast," he amended while he checked Matthew's pulse. "Sorry I couldn't get here earlier." He looked under the now-soaked bandage on Matthew's side and winced, then gave Forsythe one of his best fake smiles. "He's going to be fine. You must be Forsythe, right? Well, don't worry. I'm Iron Man and that's Captain America. And there'll be a whole bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents here soon. Real S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. S.H.I.E.L.D. 2.0, not Hydra. And they'll have medics with them." He looked around at the dismal, bloodstained room. "Any blankets in here?"

Forsythe shook his head.

"Figures." Tony shifted, then hissed and put his hand over his side again. "Fucking Hydra."

"Are you alright, Tony?" Steve asked him.

"Spiffy. Help me up." Tony took a breath and held out his hand to Steve, then took in his wounds and immediately yanked it back. "Never mind. I really like this floor."

Forsythe came closer. He swallowed, wringing his hands. "Is Matthew gonna die?"

"He'll be fine," Tony said, but Steve didn't miss how he kept his fingers on Matthew's pulse. "Help will be here really soon. I promise," he added. "Just hang on."

He was obviously saying it to Matthew; Steve hoped Forsythe didn't realize that.

END

**Author's Note:**

> BOOM THEY ARE RESCUED. ::Sobs in relief:: Now I just have to get everybody in the same place at the same time! ::Sobs in despair::
> 
> Come join me on [Tumblr](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/), 'cause you know you want some of this, baby.


End file.
